


Never to Have Loved

by sariane



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Daydreaming, Episode: so1e11 The Magical Place spoilers, Fake Marriage, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Temporary Character Death, Unrequited Love, may contain:, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It wasn't like they were friends, really, but Barton was his responsibility, Phil took his job very seriously, and Clint Barton was the funniest, smoothest, most competent man Phil had ever met.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And Phil wasn't even sure the man knew his first name.</i>
</p>
<p>(Phil loves Clint from afar.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never to Have Loved

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is taken from the famous line in Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s poem “In Memoriam A.H.H.”: “’Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all.” For Clint and Coulson, it seems “better” for them to have been together for awhile, even if Coulson’s death was a loss for them both. Here I present the unfortunate alternative: the one in which they never loved at all. 
> 
> (Of course, that line’s up for interpretation, personal and literary, but I think Clint and Phil would consider their lives better with each other.)
> 
> A huge thanks to my beta readers, [firefirefire](http://firefirefire.tumblr.com/) and [Pardon_the_egg_salad](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pardon_the_egg_salad/pseuds/Pardon_the_egg_salad)! :)
> 
> A couple lines are taken from the films, all of which are italicized quotes. 
> 
> Warnings:   
> -Canonical temporary character death.  
> -Canon-typical violence.  
> -Very minor gore in the form of injuries.  
> -Swearing.  
> -Spoilers for Agents of SHIELD episode: The Magical Place.  
>  -and this spoilery warning: canonical non-consensual memory modification

There were two guards in front of the door -- an insult. Phil took them down in seconds; a punch to the jaw, a jab to the neck, two carefully placed kicks and a whack over the head with the man’s own gun, for good measure. Phil searched the guards' pockets until he found the keys. The first two scratched in the lock to no avail, but the third clicked, opening the thick door with a creak.

"Barton?"

Clint was tied to a chair on the other end of the room, his mouth gagged and his legs and arms limp against the ropes. Phil could see him smiling around the gag at the sight of Coulson, his latest S.O. come to save him from a mission gone awry.

Phil surged forward, pulling a knife from his pocket to cut Clint free. He carefully pulled Clint's gag away, freeing his wonderful smile.

"As always, Phil Coulson to the rescue," Clint smirked.

"It's not my fault you always get yourself into these messes, Barton," Phil shot back. He cut Clint's right arm loose and kneeled down to cut through the ropes holding Clint’s legs.

"Well," Clint grinned, "it's not like it's much of a deterrent, always sending you after me." He leaned down and kissed Phil, then grabbed his tie to pull him --

"Coulson," Clint said, shaking Phil out of his thoughts. "You gonna untie me, or what?"

Phil's fingers fumbled over the knots. He hoped Clint didn't notice.

\--

The thing is, he would’ve liked to be able to pretend that he was the only one Clint Barton flirted with -- if that's what it was. But Phil had heard him over the comms with Romanoff, Sitwell, May --  even _Hill_. It wasn't like they were friends, really, but Barton was his responsibility, Phil took his job very seriously, and Clint Barton was the funniest, smoothest, most competent man Phil had ever met.

And Phil wasn't even sure the man knew his first name.

\--

"Here's my debrief, sir," Clint said, holding out a manila file with the words 'Top Secret' stamped on it in red. Their fingers brushed over the paper as he handed it to Phil. Phil swallowed and tried to pretend like his palms weren’t itching.

"Thanks for saving my ass, boss," Clint smiled. "It's Phil, right?" Phil's throat tightened up, so he just nodded numbly.

"See you around, Phil," Clint said, turning and leaving Phil alone before he could say something stupid, like, 'Will you go out to dinner with me?' or, 'I read your file and saw you like coffee. Let's go get some.' (Underneath 'Stipulations,' on his recruitment forms, Clint had written 'must provide coffee.')

Phil forced himself to open the report and stop mooning over the impossible. He focused on translating Clint's sloppy handwriting instead.

His thoughts were interrupted by a low whistle, and then, "Wow, you have got it _bad._ "

Phil looked up to see Jasper Sitwell leaning in the doorway of his office, bearing a stack of fresh files and a shit-eating grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Phil said, utilizing his stone-cold poker face.

Sitwell laughed, not buying it.

"Come on, you've known him for years. It was only a matter of time. You are in denial," Sitwell continued as he strolled into Phil's office. He plopped the files down onto Phil's desk.

Phil gave his best glare. He'd made Hydra agents _cry_ with that look. Sitwell just snorted.

"Don't you have work to do?" Phil asked. Sitwell rose his hands in surrender and backed away.

"I forgot, robots can't love," Sitwell said before he shut the door behind him.

Phil sighed.

"It's not love."

\--

But it sure felt like love, when he was laying on the hot asphalt of a street, bleeding out while Clint Barton stood over him and took out the thugs who'd ambushed them.

Phil stuck a hand inside his jacket to pull out the flash drive, to make sure it was unharmed. It was slippery in his bloody hand, but otherwise unharmed.

"Coulson, you fucking idiot," Clint growled. He crouched down next to Phil on the asphalt.

"Targets?"

"Neutralized," Clint said. "Teach them to fuck with SHIELD," he muttered. Phil coughed. He tasted blood.

"Extraction is in thirty minutes," he choked out, "don't miss it." Phil grabbed Clint's hand and forced the flash drive into his palm.

"No way," Clint said, shoving it back into Phil's hand.

"I'm not leaving without you, so you better hold onto that, sir," Clint said, tucking the flash drive into Phil's jacket before moving it aside to get a look at the bullet wound. He ripped off part of Phil's shirttail and folded it up, using it to press down on the wound.

"The mission--" Phil started as Clint looked around the street.

"Is not worth your life," Clint growled. "Now, come on, or else I'll carry you." Carefully, they maneuvered into a nearby car, where Phil sat and bled all over the seats as Clint hotwired the thing.

"Do they teach that in field training, now?" Phil asked, as dryly as he could manage.

Clint smirked and winked at him.

"You know me, sir, always top of the class," he said, before the car started. Clint put it into gear and they sped away.

Phil didn't die that day.

And he wasn't in love with Clint Barton.

\--

He was watching out for Clint Barton, and there was a difference.

"Again," Phil said, after watching Clint spar with Agent Romanoff for the sixth time that day. They were both sweating and panting from the effort, which had already left both of them with a fair amount of bruises.

"Ugh," Clint groaned, face down into the gym mat. "Really? C'mon, Coulson, I want to get down to the range."

"Lazy ass," Romanoff said fondly, poking him with her foot.

"You're behind on your hand-to-hand," Phil said. "You have a weak spot on your right side."

Barton was behind, by Phil's standards, by SHIELD's, and he needed to work harder. He needed more room for improvement, and less for bluster. He needed to be _better._

It was the difference between life and death out there -- a difference Phil knew all too well. He had to keep Clint safe, in any way he knew how, and training him until he was ready for the bigger missions was the only way. He wanted to keep Clint alive. Phil owed him that.

"I'm never going to beat Nat," Clint protested. "She's the fucking _Black Widow._ "

"Not with that attitude, you aren't," Natasha replied cheekily.

Phil bit back a smirk. He watched as Barton pushed himself up and back onto his feet. Without warning, he grabbed Romanoff from behind, attempting to gain the upper hand, but she flipped him over her shoulder and onto the mat.

"The guy who taught me that move was a cocky asshole," Natasha said proudly, "It's satisfying to use it on another of his kind."

"You don't get bonus points for teasing him," Phil said.

"There are bonus points?" Clint asked hopefully. "Can we redeem them for prizes?"

"You need some bonus points, first," Phil said, smiling. He held out a hand. Barton took it and got to his feet, eyeing Phil thoughtfully.

"And how do get those?" Clint asked, still clasping Phil's hand with his own.

"You earn them," Phil replied simply.

Barton's scowl was replaced with a mischievous smirk. He trailed his hand up Phil's arm suggestively, leering at him.

"Any suggestions on how I can do that, boss?" he asked with a wink. Phil's mouth went dry.

Natasha rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"You aren't going to get anywhere by flirting," she said, taking a swig from her water bottle.

Clint punched Phil lightly in the shoulder and turned away. "I can dream," he laughed.

\--

Phil knew how dangerous dreams were.

He knew the price of obsession; he knew not to get attached, not to hope, not to delude himself.

_And that's all this is_ , he told himself day after day, _delusions of grandeur_.

Delusions of beauty, of grace. He saw brilliance in Barton’s cocky style, the way he cracked jokes and loosed arrows as easy as breathing, the curve of his cheek and the wrinkles at the corner of his smile. Barton was all grandeur, all show.

_Nothing but a show, Phil. Nothing but a show._

\--

When Phil received his orders for his latest mission, he read the file at least ten times before going straight to Fury's office.

"Excuse me, sir," he said once the door closed behind him. "I think there's been a mistake in the filing --" Phil started, but Fury shook his head and cut him off before he could even finish.

"There hasn't been," Fury said, looking up from his desk. "I need two agents on this mission, and you and Barton are the best suited for this kind of espionage."

"Sir, respectfully, I’m going to have to disagree with you," Phil said, a pained expression on his face. "Agent Romanoff--"

"Agent Romanoff is in deep cover," Fury interrupted him again. "You and Barton are some of the best agents we've got. You're close enough and good enough to pull this off."

"Sir," Phil started again, holding back a grimace. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Fury inhaled deeply. He let all the air rush out of him in a great, tired sigh, then stood up and rounded his desk. He looked down at Phil, staring him right in the eyes.

"Phil," he said in a low voice. "Are you telling me you're emotionally compromised? That you have a problem working with Agent Barton? That you have an issue with your cover for this assignment?"

Phil hesitated for a moment and licked his lips, eyes darting away from Fury's.

"No, sir," he said finally, unable to meet Fury's eyes.

"Good," Fury said. "We don't have much intel about the area. Oregon's pretty far off our usual map. I need my best for this op."

He patted Phil once on the shoulder, turned on his heel, and left Phil standing alone in the empty office.

Phil cursed under his breath.

\--

"So, how long have you been married?"

The question was like one of Barton's arrows, pointed and quick, stabbing into Phil's heart and wounding him before he realized he was a target.

"Oh, eight years, now," Clint lied with an easy smile thrown carelessly towards Phil. "Since Massachusetts legalized it." The woman on the other end of the question smiled sharply at them. Her name was Evelyn van der Pol, the Queen Bee of the little _Desperate Housewives_ set-up of the neighborhood.

"Bill and I've been together for half that," she said, nudging her husband with a bony elbow. "I wish he had half your enthusiasm!" Bill chuckled along with the rest of their neighbors and cracked a joke of his own.

Phil laughed along, self-consciously twisting the fake wedding ring on his finger. He felt stiff and tense from the attention. Even with Clint’s hand, warm and comforting on the small of his back, he still felt trapped and exposed, a bug under a microscope. It seemed as though half of their new neighborhood had showed up.

_He and Clint_ were the ones who were supposed analyze the others, trying to pick out anything odd and out of place for the mission. And yet, Phil still felt like they were the targets here. Targets of gossip and scrutiny, perhaps, but targets, nonetheless.

_Two weeks down,_ Phil thought.

Two weeks in suburbia, two weeks of their nosy next door neighbors mowing their lawns once a day, weeding spotless flower beds, and walking their dogs half to death trying to catch a glimpse of their new neighbors. Two weeks, and they'd already been forced into two barbecues and strong-armed into hosting a housewarming party in their own home.

Two weeks of Barton wrapping an arm around Phil's waist whenever they had company, tucking his fingers in Phil's pockets and the loops of his jeans in the isle at the grocery store, and stealing kisses under the front maple tree when he knew full well the neighbors were watching them plant petunias.

Two weeks of curling up on the far side of the bed while Barton hogged the covers. Two weeks of cold showers and always finding an excuse to go into the other room while Barton changed. Two weeks of a fake marriage, fake domesticity, when all Phil wanted was the real thing.

He made Clint coffee in the morning, if only to see him smile and moan when he took the first sip. Phil jogged with him for recon at the crack of dawn with the excuse that two eyes were better than, but couldn't take his eyes off Clint. He cut the vegetables for dinner under Clint’s instruction, made their bed every morning, washed the dishes while Clint dried.

They agreed to keep the blinds open at night while they watched television, and Phil felt his heart break as Clint fell asleep with his head on Phil's chest.

It had only been two weeks, and Phil didn't know how much more he could take.

"Feels longer than that," Phil said, his mind returning to the conversation. He smiled, hoping it didn't look too forced.

"Really?" Clint said, looking sideways at Phil, with eyes seemingly only for him. "Feels like just yesterday to me."

Phil opened his mouth to reply that yesterday was trash day, and they wouldn't have disgusting bags sitting in their garage if _someone_ had listened when he'd been asked to take them out.

They were interrupted as Natasha Romanoff burst through the door with a loud _bang!_ and shot Evelyn between the eyes.

The room stilled immediately. Evelyn’s head snapped back with a sickening metal crack, then slowly whirred into an upright position, a bloodless hole visible in her forehead.

"They're all robots!" Natasha spat from across the room, tossing a gun to Barton and Phil each.

Barton swore. “My bow’s upstairs,” he said. “I could take them out with an EMP arrow.”

“No time,” Phil said, flipping the safety off on his gun and diving in front of Barton to cover him. Barton raised his gun to fend off the robot neighbors that began to ambush them, shooting lasers out of their -- out of their _eyes?!_

 Barton overturned their dinner table, scattering their painstakingly prepared dinner on the floor. He and Phil dived behind it for cover.

"Shit," Barton swore, ducking down next to Phil. "All of them are androids. _All of them._ How the hell did we miss that?"

"To be fair, I can't tell which days Fury's a LMD and which days he's himself," Phil said, glancing over the table and covering Clint while he took out a few of the androids. Romanoff was on the other side of the house, fighting off the Johnson couple's ambush.

"You've got to be shitting me," Clint moaned, "Fury uses a decoy? Don't tell me, you're a robot, too." Barton shot the cord of the heavy light fixture and it fell, taking out two of the lifelike androids with a crash and scattered sparks.

_Why don't you find out for yourself sometime?_ Phil wanted to say, but he shut his mouth.

"Eyes on the prize, Barton," he said instead. Phil's hand didn't waver as he emptied his gun into the rest of the robots.

\--

"So," Romanoff said, drawing out the word. She shut the door to Phil's office behind her with a soft _click,_ crossed her arms, and leaned against it. "Barton."

"Yeah, if you see him, will you tell him I need his report?" Phil said, looking pointedly away from her and down at the papers on his desk.

"You know what I mean," she said in a low voice. "Fury sent you two to infiltrate a neighborhood being controlled by Hydra -- being controlled by Hydra-designed androids, nonetheless --"

"We didn't know that at the time," Phil interrupted.

"And the best way for you to infiltrate them was to be married," Romanoff continued, ignoring Phil. "To Barton."

"It was Fury's call, not mine," Phil said, forcing an edge of steel into his voice.

"Yeah," Romanoff said, tapping her blood red nails on her forearm. "Nick Fury put two of his best agents into deep cover on top of a _fucking nuclear silo_ and told them to _make o_ ut if anyone got suspicious. Sounds just like Fury to me."

"Agent Romanoff," Phil began, looking up at her, "I promise you, we were simply following orders. I'll admit, it was not the most ideal situation --"

"You're in love with him," she interrupted, her voice soft.

Phil opened his mouth to deny it, but Agent Romanoff tilted her head sideways at him, her pitying eyes sharp in her face, and he couldn't lie to her.

"I'm not accusing you of taking advantage," she said. "Clint said something was different, that you seemed…skittish on this op. He thought it was fishy, Fury sending the two of you on a mission that was that easy. You two don't do much undercover work. Not like that."

"Fury thought it was just going to be a milk run," Phil found himself saying, mouth going dry. "I think he thought he was setting us up. A month away from it all, plenty of time to talk things out, and even fish out which household was a front for the drug or weapons deals. He didn't know it was a HYDRA cover until it was too late." Phil looked down at his hands. "He was wrong."

"About what?" Romanoff asked, a little cruelly, "HYDRA, or whether or not you're a coward?"

"I'm not a coward," Phil said, standing up.

"No," Romanoff replied. "You just won't tell Clint how you feel about him."

"I --" Phil cut himself off and shook his head, trying to regain his composure. "I can't."

"Why not?" she asked.

"You know Barton," Phil said softly, his eyes dipping down to the files on his desk. He'd carefully typed out the mission, down to every last detail, filled out the forms that had to be completed by hand, copied them in triplicate to send off to their respective offices for inspection and consideration. He looked down to where he'd filled out Barton's name next to his own, the ink unsmudged and clean, spelling out in Phil's neat hand: 'Clint Francis Barton, alias Clint Bishop,' 'Phillip J. Coulson, alias Phil Bishop.'

"I do know him," Natasha said, stepping closer to Phil. "Which is why I think you should _tell him_."

Phil brought his eyes up to meet hers.

"So do I," he said. "That's why I know he doesn't feel the same. We're different people, Romanoff. Too different. He could never love someone like me."

Natasha brought her hand up to cup Phil's cheek.

"Maybe he could, if you'd let him," she said.

She turned on her heel and left, abandoning Phil to the quiet loneliness of his office.

\--

Phil found Clint in the usual bar, a nearly empty glass in front of him and a distant glaze over his eyes.

"Can I join you?" Phil asked.

Clint looked up, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "What're you doing here, Ph -- Coulson?" Phil slid onto a stool next to him, unbuttoning the jacket of his suit as he sat.

"Natasha told me where to find you," Phil said. Barton grunted, as though that explained everything. He turned back to his drink and downed it in a single gulp.

When Clint didn't say anything, Phil drummed his fingers against the wooden top of the bar. "Let me buy you a drink," he offered, flagging down the bartender.

"No thanks, Coulson," Clint said. "I should call it a night." He didn't make any move to leave.

Phil ordered a beer and sat in silence with Clint while he waited on it, watching Clint trace something into the perspiration of his empty glass with his fingers.

The bartender set down Phil's beer and moved to the other end of the bar, leaving them with nothing but their heavy, awkward silence.

"Phil --"

"Clint --"

"Shit -- look," Clint said quickly, before Phil could say anything else. "I know you don't want to work with me anymore. I can find a different S.O. No need to break it to me easy. I got it."

"What?" Phil said, blinking at Clint.

"You -- isn't that why you're here? After that last fiasco of an op -- Natasha said -- I thought --" Clint ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Phil admitted. He took a swig of his beer. "I know that was a rough mission. I wouldn't have let you in there if I knew what we were up against. It was too much for just the two of us."

"Hell, Coulson, I'm not talking about Hydra," Barton sighed. "Just, what the hell was that?"

"What?" Phil swallowed weakly.

"You froze up on me," Clint said. "I get it, I'm not your ideal choice, but it was just a mission. If you didn't want to pretend to be married to me, you shouldn't have agreed to the assignment." His voice was thick with disappointment and the alcohol on his tongue.

Phil's own reply stuck in his throat. "That's not fair," he said. "I tried. I didn't choose the assignment, but I tried. I didn't want to take --"

"You didn't want to, what?" Clint snapped. "Get stuck with me on _another_ mission? You're always doing this, you're always holding me back, keeping me from the dangerous ops, like you think I can't handle them!"

Phil froze with his mouth half open, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

_Of course._ Of course Clint thought he was holding him back. Phil hadn't thought -- he had been keeping Clint on easier missions -- his interference was for Clint’s sake. He didn't want him to get hurt.

"Everyone thinks I'm irresponsible, that I'm just another insubordinate little shit, but I thought you knew better than that, Coulson," Clint sighed in frustration. "I thought you knew me better than that."

Angrily, Clint slid from his stool. He slammed a handful of bills on the counter and turned away, retreating from Phil and the bar with slumped shoulders.

Phil watched as Clint hesitated at the door, turning back for barely a second to glance at Phil. His knuckles tightened on the doorframe.

Phil considered following him, apologizing, explaining.

The door swung shut, and Barton was gone.

\--

By then, Phil was so far gone for Barton that he couldn't rationalize denying it anymore.

_Why did it have to be Barton_? he thought.

And, why not fall in love with Clint Barton? It was perfect, really. The asset and his handler. Casual meets professional. Bold meets reserved. They were the perfect complement to each other, the perfect team, the perfect couple.

Except Clint Barton wasn't in love with _him_.

\--

"I'm submitting notice of my transfer to the West Coast Division," Phil said, setting his transfer papers on Fury's desk. Fury took his time glaring down at the files, then looked up at Phil.

"I'll consider your request," Fury said dismissively, pushing the papers back towards Phil.

"It's not a request," Phil said firmly.

Fury sighed, tapping his pencil against his desk.

"I don't know what to tell you, Cheese," he said, looking at Phil from across the desk. "I need you here."

"I can't work here anymore," Phil said. "I can't do this, Nick. I can't." He swallowed, trying to hide the way his voice threatened to crack.

"New York --"

"New York will survive without me," Phil said. "I need to get out of here. You owe me that, Nick." He stared Nick down, unwavering.

"Fine," Fury sighed. "But if you leave here, you're assigned to deal with Tony Stark."

\--

"So, six months in California," Pepper Potts said, stirring sugar into her cappuccino, "have you met anyone yet?"

Phil swallowed uncomfortably. He looked down into his black coffee and tried not to think of Clint Barton, back in New York with Romanoff and Sitwell.

"And don't give me that 'I'm too busy' crap, I know it's just an excuse," Pepper continued, raising an eyebrow.

"And what if it's not?" Phil countered with a strained smile. He liked Pepper, he really did, but --

"Then you're lying," Pepper said matter-of-factly, "because I'm just as busy as you, and yet I have time to take you out to dinner next Friday night, if you're free."

Phil tried not to freeze up. He looked up at Pepper, met her daring eyes, and smiled guiltily.

"You caught me," he said. "I'm…not sure if it's anything serious, yet."

Pepper looked utterly delighted. "You go, tiger!" she said excitedly. "Tell me, what does she do? How did you meet her?"

Phil took a sip of his coffee and decided to roll with it.

"She travels a lot. She's a cellist," Phil lied easily, mind drifting to the way the bowstring sang beneath Clint's fingers.

"Ooh," Pepper grinned. "Where's she from?"

Phil's stomach swooped as he thought of the two weeks he'd spent by Barton's side.

He smiled easily. "Portland."

\--

Lying to Pepper was easy.

As time went by, lying to himself got even easier.

\--

It was hard to ignore the suffocating tightness that grew in his chest when Fury called Phil to let him know. Barton was assigned to New Mexico.

Phil took deep, steady breaths as Barton walked into the base.

_Maybe he'll say he misses working with me,_ Phil's brain thought traitorously for a moment. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his head. _No._

Phil distracted himself with the mission, pushing his feelings aside. This was just another assignment to Barton. Phil didn't allow himself to wonder if Barton was hurt or confused by the way Phil had abandoned him and Natasha. It had been a long time, Phil told himself, and pretended that was enough of an excuse.

It was easy to forget about Barton when the base was being attacked by a huge blonde thug who thought he could take on SHIELD. As the rain began to pour, Phil felt a storm brewing inside him, too, upsetting all his old aches.

" _I need eyes up high, with a gun,"_ Phil said into the comms, impersonal and commanding, insulting enough to Barton to distance himself. Barton didn't use a gun. Barton _wouldn't_ if he could help it, that was what made him _Barton_ , the way he always used his bow, the way he put his passions first, his determination before others' convenience. That was why Phil loved him.

_"You want me to slow him down, sir?"_ Barton quipped, _"or are you sending in more guys for him to beat up?"_

For a moment -- just a moment -- it was almost like old times, the two of them fighting and working together, trading banter as easy as breathing. But it couldn't last. He called Barton off, and his agents moved in to collar the thug.

Phil looked up into the rain, past the floodlights, to where Barton stood in the crane's basket.

Barton was nothing but a silhouette. He lowered his bow and stared off into the distance, his eyes tracking something Phil couldn't see.

Phil lowered his eyes. He relished the numbing cold of the rain as it soaked through his suit.

\--

It was bright in the desert base. Phil slid on his sunglasses and squinted over the shipment he was supervising. Agents loaded black armored boxes containing Phase II equipment into a truck. They had to handle and guard the weaponry extremely carefully; Project Pegasus was as Top Secret as it got.

"Agent Coulson," Deputy Director Maria Hill greeted Phil, stepping beside him on the loading dock.

"Agent Hill," Phil said with a nod, squinting at her through his sunglasses. "We're right on schedule today. The shipment should be delivered to the drop point by 08:00 hours tomorrow."

"That's not what I'm here to talk to you about," she said, looking out over the agents mulling around base. "It's about Agent Barton."

Phil steeled himself. Hill wasn't one to talk about personal matters. She was all business.

"Yes?" he asked curtly, not giving anything away. He hadn't seen much of Barton since he'd been stationed there. Phil had mused about running into Barton in the subterranean halls, asking him if he'd like to get a coffee, heading down to Barton's "nest" with a deck of cards to see if he was up for a game -- but he felt like they'd been past that for a long time.

"Some agents have reported that he's acting oddly. You were his S.O. for awhile. What do you think?" Hill asked, eyeing Phil carefully.

"We weren't close," Phil lied, "we haven't seen much of each other lately."

"But you've been around him enough to make a judgment," Hill said. "It's…suspect. People say he's been acting out of character."

"He's been --" _Skittish,_ Phil thought, remembering the way Barton used to greet him in the halls. _Cold,_ ignoring Phil's attempts at jokes or conversations. He remembered their banter during ops, Barton's loyalty, his openness, his flirting. Phil remembered the way Barton smiled at Phil when he made him coffee in the mornings of their pretend life, and how he snapped at Phil afterwards, at the bar.

_Hurt_ , Phil thought as he remembered. Phil abandoned Clint Barton -- he froze up and left, hid his feelings away because he didn't want to get hurt, and sacrificed their friendship in the process -- and hurt _Clint_ , all to avoid the pain of rejection.

Phil looked down at his feet and thought, _Maybe -- it's_ me _._

"Coulson?" Hill asked.

"He's been the same as ever," Phil said. "I think we're all going a bit stir crazy, stuck in this place."

Hill snorted. "It's this damn desert," she said. "Messes with people's heads, I think."

Phil smiled back.

\--

_"Barton's been compromised."_

Phil's voice almost broke over the words.

_Help him,_ he didn't say to Romanoff over the phone. _We can't fight this on our own. We need you, he needs you._ I _need him._

She seemed to read it in his voice anyways.

\--

Phil didn't know what he imagined his death would be like, but it wasn't like this.

"I've got Barton restrained," he heard through the comm device still in his ear. Romanoff, he thought. "He's unconscious."

"A team's coming to take him to Medical," came the reply.

Phil rested his head against the cold wall, letting the other voices fade into each other. Loki was gone. The engines were working again. Barton was safe.

Clint was _alive_.

Phil swallowed weakly. He might not make it out of this one, but at least --

Fury appeared over Phil like a dark angel, his trench coat swinging around his legs. Phil wondered when he'd gotten there. He swallowed and struggled to speak, to stay awake, to stay --

He needed to _say_ \--

\--

\--

\--

\--

\--

It didn't come flooding back.

It came gradually, like remembering a dream.

First was the pain, his personal nightmare of fear as they operated on his body, bringing him back, tearing him back, tearing him apart.

He remembered the rest in flashes…the cold numbness he felt as he awoke in the hospital room, Hill's guarded expression, the doctors' haunted fear, the determination in Fury's eyes.

There was more. Missions he'd forgotten, things he knew about Fury, about SHIELD. He remembered nearly losing his life to an assassin in Siberia and bleeding out in Mombasa and fighting off Hydra's robots in Portland.

One day, Phil Coulson woke up in love with Clint Barton.

\--

_It's better this way_ , Phil thought. Easier.

Clint didn't know he was alive, and why should he? The Avengers would be angry if they found out -- but it would hurt Phil more to see the betrayal in Clint's eyes. He'd trusted Phil, once. He'd considered him a friend. So had Natasha.

Phil had his own team now. He had a life. It might not have been the life he remembered, but it wasn't a lie. He was where he needed to be.

\--

But -- if, sometimes, Phil let himself fall asleep imagining that the Avengers were needed again -- that Loki returned, or they were attacked by a robot army, or invaded by aliens -- that Phil was called in to help --

Well.

He imagined it differently every time; running onto the battlefield, reporting in over the comms, or calling the team in himself, always watching their shocked faces.

And if Phil daydreamed about Clint Barton's sharp eyes widening in shock as they saw him, and imagined the way he'd yell angrily at Phil before he kissed him, well…

No one needed to know that except Phil.


End file.
